


L'Manberg: Reborn

by squiccoon



Series: L'Manberg Retold [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Death, Gen, multiple character deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28751601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiccoon/pseuds/squiccoon
Summary: A new president, a new era.Another story, another war.The words "it was never meant to be" have never sung more true than in L'Manberg's history as time repeats itself again and again without fail. President after president, it's a never-ending cycle of misery and death for this proud country.But will a new leader, a new nation, bring the end to this ill-fated country's misfortune or will the words of a traitor haunt them once more?This is the sequel to The Fall of Manberg and follows the events of the Dream SMP role-play.Please note that the events in this book won't match exactly to what happened in the SMP role-play. This is purely what I envisioned the sequel to be (during the early days of the rp) and due to added characters/members to the SMP and story backgrounds, I've changed my version of the story accordingly.I hope you enjoy it all the same and have a good day/night/afternoon! ^-^
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Tubbo, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: L'Manberg Retold [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118999
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue

The smoldering crater gaped open in what once was a beautiful land. Smoke continued to build up and spread into the sky, scraggly rocks and debris falling and falling into the endless void. Three lone men stood above it all, one taking a step forward to join what was lost while the two remaining went separate ways; one into the woods, the other towards him. Towards Schlatt.

"So...what do you think?" The man in green asked, taking a step away from the stairs to stand beside him. "I don't know about you, but I think it looks a lot better."

"Hmph." Reaching into his pocket, Schlatt pulled out a coin—turning it over in his hand as he inspected the engraved of a ram on its blood-speckled, metallic surface—and tossed it in the air. "If that's what you think beauty is, I don't want to imagine what your home is like."

Dream laughed, taking a seat atop the hill overlooking Manberg. Letting out a contented sigh, he undid the clasp holding his mask in place and placed it on the ground beside him much to the ex-president's surprise. "Hey, I've got to take a breather every now and then, don't I?"

"I guess so," the ram-hybrid said as he returned to watching the people clamber and climb over the remains of Manberg. Shaking his head disdainfully, he took a seat next to Dream and looked to the sky. "So what do you want? What business do you have with someone like me? I assure you, whatever it is you're going to ask won't work the way you plan. Not with me anyway."

There came another chuckle from Dream as he laughed at Schlatt's half joke. "Don't worry. What I ask of you will be simple and in some ways fun. I'm sure you wouldn't mind cooperating with me, would you?"

"That depends—" he flicked the coin up into the air again—"on what you want me to do. As far as I'm concerned, I don't really have any desire in returning."

"At all? You have _no_ desires whatsoever to return?" Schlatt only responded with a nod to which Dream shook his head with a sigh. "That certainly puts a crimp in my plans, but I can figure something out that'll work for both of us."

No response. They sat in respected silence as one-by-one the people of Manberg left to deal with their new lives; lost, cold and empty. Only one person exhibited some semblance of happiness as he tailed his son around the crater. It was a pitiful act, Schlatt must say, as he watched their wild chase dissolve into an angry fight. He'd intervene but it wasn't his place to say or do anything, not that he really wanted to anyway. He was quite happy sitting where he was and listening to the turning pages of Dream reading a book, an occasional snicker escaping him.

"Right!" Dream exclaimed as he finished the book and closed it with a thump. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

"Business, eh? Now you're speaking my language," Schlatt said with a smirk. Stretching, he let out a big yawn despite not feeling tired and looked at Dream, still taken slightly aback at finally seeing his face no longer hidden behind the mask.

There was plenty to talk about his face—his bright green eyes, his freckles, his near-perfect smile—but nothing was more eye-catching than the scar running across from the top-left of his forehead straight to the bottom-right of his chin. It looked as though it had been inflicted recently (possibly with a sword) but if Schlatt were to guess, it was made before Manberg times. Averting his eyes from the damage, the former president looked to the rubble and asked, "What have you got for me? Need I remind you that I may not be of much use to you especially in my given state?"

"I've already taken that into account, Schlatt. No need to worry about that factor." Pulling out another book, Dream scratched a line across the page and wrote—what Schlatt presumed to be—his new idea. Schlatt noticed the calculative look he wore on his face, taking a special interest in the potential various expressions he could make and what he could see. With a flourished full stop, Dream cheerfully smiled and pointed with his pen to the crater. "Okay, picture this: a **new** L'Manberg!"

"Why the hell would I want to picture that?"

"Because that's what I'm planning." He grinned at Schlatt's eye-roll then continued. "What? You think I'm just going to leave this hideous but somewhat magnificent hole here? I don't need to tell you that this lowers the property value of my own land significantly, do I?"

"No, you don't," he replied, struggling not to laugh at his joke. "Okay, okay. You want to build a new L'Manberg. How does that involve me?"

"Well, it wouldn't be much of a L'Manberg without some dictatorial power present, would it?" Another eye-roll from Schlatt followed by a sigh sent Dream in another fit of silent laughter. "Do you have any objections?"

This time it was Schlatt's turn to laugh as he responded to his question. "I guess I do have to remind you of my predicament, Dream." Fixing him with a transparent amber glare, Schlatt said, "I'm fucking _dead_ , Dream. How the fuck am I going to lead a country when I have no physical presence nor any intentions of having one?"

Undeterred, Dream matched Schlatt's intense gaze and smiled. "Simple. Do as I say and we'll soon have another new **Manberg** in our hands." His grin broadened, showing all his teeth as he held an innocent hand out. "So what do you say, Schlatt? Do we have a deal?"

Schlatt looked down to Dream's extended hand, black and purple wisps floating around it and creeping towards him. He watched his eyes for any hints of deceit, laughing when he saw only the flames of wile and madness amidst the green, and shook his head before clasping Dream's hand in his own. "I don't know what you have planned but consider it a deal." Lowering his voice to a whisper, he leant in to his face and said, "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Dream."

In an equally low voice, Dream replied, "The pleasure's all mine, Schlatt."

_The pleasure's all **mine**._


	2. What is Right?

"Dream, please detain and escort Tommy out of my country."

"Tubbo? What are you saying? Tubbo!"

"Tommy, you are hereby exiled. You're a liability. You need to **leave**."

 _No...no, no, no, no, no, NO!_ "TUBBO! You can't be serious! Tubbo, please—"

"—Come on, Tommy." A hand on his shoulder shoved him down from the tall obsidian walls, a sharp pain running through his body as he fell to the ground. He grunted from the impact, shooting a glare at the man who pushed him and his hand now outstretched to help him back up. "You don't want to die, do you?"

From below he looked between the faces of his friends, all with mixed emotions; Fundy staring at his leader in disappointment, Quackity looking at him lost and confused, and Tubbo. What ever happened to Tubbo?

"Please, Tubbo! Please, don't do this to me!"

"I'm sorry, Tommy, but this is how it has to be." Stray tears running down his cheeks, Tommy watches as his friend grows distant, the formidable wall he stood on rising higher and higher above his head. 

The ground shook, a giant chasm opening up beneath him and swallowing him whole. A sensation all too familiar, all too foreign coursed through his body as he flailed in mid-air. His mind was a muddle—as was the world as it spun and looped before him—and he struggled to make sense of things; the ground, the sky, the voices he'd hear as he fell. Some of fondness, some of hate. A few he heard were of his own voice, others he recgonised as his friends but there were a few....Tommy was sure he had heard them before but he doesn't know from where or when or who.

 _We're on_ _**the right side of history.** _

**_Life. Liberty. And the Pursuit of Victory._ **

_Tommy and Wilbur._ _**We are at war.** _

_L'Manberg strong!_

_**It was never meant to be.** _

_B̴͚̞̼̞̘̐̓̃e̵̛̥̹͆̎͆͝t̴̛͓̱͙̍́ŕ̴̥̙̻͐a̸͈͌y̵̳̠͕̙̓̐ͅa̷̳̝̩̝͔̒̓̏͝l̵̘̓̂͐̉ ̴̯̱̌c̶̡̲̗̲̲̉̐a̴̢̛̬̳̾̐͘͜ͅň̸̢͇̯̳͍̿ ̷̥͈̹͓͑ć̴͈̞o̵͈̪͖͈͂́͝m̵̼̥̲̉̾͒͊͘e̷̻̣͓̻̭̒̕ ̸̧̝̟̦̃͊͛́̕f̵̨̓͂̽̈͗r̵̩̍̾ȍ̴͚̭̀̂̊̚m̸̢̺͔̜͛ ̷͙̠̪͙͑a̸̛̲̥̤̿̓̉͝n̵͔̘̐̽͝y̸̝ö̷̙̰͕̣́̐̓̍̕n̴̤̩͈͝e̵̢͔͙̝̜̓.̵̝̙̜͍̄́̂̋͋_

_**Independence or Death.** _ _If we get no revolution then we want nothing._

 _If you_ _**win** _ _, you get_ _**independence.** _  
_If you_ _**lose** _ _, you don't get independence and I get_ _**Mellohi.** _

_Do I_ _**shoot him** _ _or aim for the sky?_

 _Ŵ̷̪̣̇̎́h̷̟̃ͅa̴̫̺͇̘̓͂̍t̴̮͇͔̼̖͌ ̴̘̎͑́h̸̡̲̬̻̀̇̈́̔́a̵̩̹͍̞̒̕͝ͅp̷̨̘̹͔̈́p̵͙̈́͒e̵̪͖̼̊̂̅͗n̷̮̪̜̈́̀̇͝e̶̻͂͛̾̒d̵̛̬̮͉̞͐̚ ̷͎̖̳̬̉t̷̫̾̏o̵͍͍͍͆̏̂̔ ̴͉̩̖̫͑ț̶̙̂̓͋̃h̶̺̍͂̒e̵͎̿ ̷͚̭̭̖̯̈̒L̶̫̪̒'̶́ͅM̶͍̮͖̙̥͋̔́͝ḁ̶̝̱͛n̸̢̲̦̪͝b̷̧̝̭̅ḛ̶͕̀̈̃r̸̪̯̙̫̝̈͂g̵̢͎͈̕ ̶̰͍̯̏̿́D̴̜̋̓̏̕͠e̷̠̓̇͛̕c̶̡̺̫͓̜̏̽r̴̰̜͚͌e̵͉͈̔e̶̙̾̓ ̶̤̥̬͆̈̀̚o̶̜̰͗͊f̶̠̂̈́ ̷̹̟̓̽̐Ï̸̦͋̐̒̚n̵̰̼̘̝͖̓̄̃͗̌d̵͓̞̳͒͆e̷̝̫͖̭̍̊̾̔p̶̡͓̌͛̆e̸̲̫͇͔̱͝n̶͚̏̈́͂͛ͅd̶͖͉͂̅͆̕͜â̵͔̙̺͝ͅn̸̬̥̟͓͍̑͊͝c̶͎͚͖̗̦̆̑̾͠e̵̼͌̅̐:̸̥͚̗͕̇̎͘̕͜͠ ̸̨̛̝̖͓̌͂'̴̘̰̅͒L̵͍̞͎͔̲͗͌̆̔i̵̝̕͠f̶̘̯͇͖̆̏̋̍̊ë̴͍,̵̼͂̐͂͑ ̴̛͙̖̭͑̄L̴͈̔i̷̤͖̎̓̄͘b̴̡̰͓̟̥̑͆ë̵͎́r̴̗͕̳̲̀̀t̵̢͓͎̺̟̆̓̍̈́͝y̶̺̔͒͑̓̃͜ ̵̮̈́̈́̉ạ̷͇̖͔̣̄ņ̵̜̪̭̋̿͆̅̈͜d̶̙̹̣̄ ̶̜̓F̵̛̜̪͕͋̕͜r̵͓͊͋ẽ̶̘̒ͅḙ̸͑d̸̨̮̲̬̞̔̕͠o̸̢̬̺͉̖̾͌̐m̵̧̹̭̞͚͒̇̕͝͠'̶̲͙̺̅̈́͑̑̿?̴̥͎̓̄ ̵̞̠͉̈́̓̀͋̔I̷̛̙͎͈̿͗s̵͔̿͂̄́͜n̴̻̪̬̗̅͜'̴̱̩͇̾t̸͕̬͉̙͗̈́̏̑̕ ̸̱͙̖̒͆̓̇̋t̴̡̥̞̲̳̂͆̑̃̕h̸͓̘̾̐a̶̺͍̤͕͐̓̚t̵̥̫͍̬̓͛͂̑ ̴̡͍̮̲̍ẃ̴̠̹̤̩̂͗̄h̶̦͆̾ą̷̰̳̯̈̒̈́̕ț̴̞̖̫̿̕ ̸̖͂w̸̛̬̱̬̔̋̃͝e̶̜̲͈͆̅͝ ̴̢̡̲͖͌w̴̝̠̝̫̦͑̅a̸͚̹̋̾͝͝ṋ̵̳̈t̵̖̻̠̋̕ͅe̷̛͖̹̒͛͝d̸̰͌̈́_ _?̴̢̜͊͊̿̾_

_YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO SUCK IT GREEN BOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY_

_**My Right Hand Man** _ _, Treasury of State,_ _**Tommy Innit** _ _._

 _You are a_ _**threat** _ _to our democracy._

_Y̴͚͇̭̐͌̚͝ö̸̼̭͔̍u̸͇͙̼͖̓̐͝ͅ'̵̧͈͕̯̂̌̀r̴͔̰̝̜̳͛́̊e̴̛̘̙̙̫̒̕ ̵͕͉̞̳̈̕̚͠͠ͅṫ̸̛͍̤͔̥͜͠ḩ̶̛̪̈́̉́e̸̦͕͑ ̸̡̺͙̪̟̏̐̆͠ĺ̴̜͍̭̦̳͗͝ă̷͓̘ṩ̸̮̑̈̓t̴̢͕͇͙̣́ ̷̨̼͓̿p̶̪̞͙͔͎̽͋́e̴̡̛͍̓̅̽̏r̶̛̭̥͈̼̈́̾̕ͅs̸͔̪͚̦̎̿͜o̸̢̯̪̝͑͜n̷̩̠̰͒̆̉ ̷̗̲͑͆̏̓͗h̴̢͕͓͖̯̑͆͝ȅ̸̩̭̾̀ ̷̣̪̖̗̹̈̔̈́h̴͎̩͎̄̈́å̸̟̼͈̗͕̇͝s̷̙̭̎͂͝͠ ̶̞̟͕̓̈́̅̑t̸̪͓̑͂̿͗h̶̘͛̅̒a̸̞̫͉͎̰̿̄̋̕t̵̛͉͖͆̋ ̸̡̬̼͛̆͊̈͌h̶͙͚̘̪̙̽̔ă̸̰̌̾s̵̻̩̻͕̎̋ ̵͓̹͈͋͝s̸̬͓̖̘̀̾t̷̹̺͔͓͌͆̕ṵ̷͚͎̟̖̽͂̄̆͝c̶͓͚̐k̸̢͕̱͇̙̽̚̕ ̷̛̱͉̇b̸͎̤͖̲́y̸͕͉̹͆͑́͠ ̷͖̳̥̗̊h̸͙̟̔̓į̷͈͋̊́s̷͎̿ ̸̩̜̹̝͂̂̾͆͜s̶͚͋͗̅͘i̶̡̢̖͆̊͘͝ḓ̷̞ě̶̲͙̕ ̷̧̬̱̓̒̈́s̵̪̆̓͐͂ḭ̴͍̯̎̍̅̅̚ͅͅn̷͕̍c̷̞͉̯̫͌͛̕è̸͓̤̦̎ ̴̡̻̅͊͠t̴̙̩́͑̌h̴̥͙̞̩̿̇ë̶̲́̍͒̊ ̶̛̙̗̮̾̽̈́b̴̫͉̗̋̌͗e̶̞̳̻̜̣͑̚g̸̭͛̂i̸̞̤̺͓̾͋̐́͝n̴̬͊̓̏n̷̮͇̹̤̾̔͛̈i̷̛̞͚̣̟̲̊̃̊̈́ň̵̠͠͝g̴͙͎̐ ̸̝̑ą̷̨̱̗̦̎̊̚n̴̺̭̰̣̋̿d̷͇̟̑̄̈́ ̴̰͔̜̻͓͐̊̕͝ĺ̶̜͇̖ö̷̺̖̘͇͂͘͝s̷̛̳̏í̷̬̼̲̩n̵̖̜͚̭͓̉̇̌͗͗g̷̦͇͈̅̾͝ ̵̨̛͝y̷̡͉̼̦͋̆̀o̶̧̱͝ṳ̵̯̺͋̉͝ ̴̛̖̈́̍̓͗w̶̧̫̜̩̣̑͐͒͝o̵͇͙̘͊͜ú̷̳̰̖͋̂̓̀ľ̵̜͈̑̄̾d̵̮͗̏͊͘͝ ̵͈̞̪̂̒̊͝b̴̩͂e̴̡̤̙̖̟͌͂ ̶̡̹̬̼͚̌̽̋̋̇ţ̷͍̍͝͝ȯ̴̦̠̊o̸̧̺̓͊ ̷̡͙̳̳̼̿͑͂̅m̷̱̥͉̮̗̂͆͌͋u̸̘̯͔̥͌͘c̴̢̀͛̆h̸̥̿̍͂͝.̵̧͉̪̘͝_

_The wound is fresh, the area is hot,_ _**they're looking for you.** _

_This country will not take anymore L's, for we are victorious._  
 _**L'Manberg** _ _is_ _**no more** _ _, Tommy._  
 _Wait! What is it, what is it?_  
 _**Manberg.** _

_Ŝ̵̬ơ̷̤͈̔͌͂.̶̠̋͒͆͠.̷͈͈͌ͅ.̵̣̐̊̅̒ỹ̶̝̈́̒ǒ̷̜͎̳̓ǔ̵̝͌́̊̒'̴̖̯̑͌̎͘͘v̵̩̥͆͒͊͜ë̷̢̮̜̣̒̊̽͋ ̴̭͇̰͛d̶̟͂̋̔e̵͕̞̍̈͒c̶̨̭̳̱͆͗̔͘i̶̖̔ḏ̸̅̒̅̈́̎e̸̛͇̖̥͕̮͑̽̓͝d̵̰̩̼̠̽̒͜ ̸̮̳͕͕͗͆̒t̷͍͈̃̇̿̈ỏ̸͚͈̖ ̴̳͔͑̔̈́j̷̘̬͐̑̍o̷̫̮͊͠i̷̧̥̺͔̕n̸̦̫̮̲̈̃͘͘ ̵̡̢͇͕̓t̸̳̫̅͘͠h̸̳̘̱̪̝́ę̴͓̺̲̍ ̵̦̭̑̌̍͘ơ̴͇̹̠̔̓ẗ̴̤̋͒̽͘h̶̨̟̳̥̜͌̊̊e̴̥͕͉̱͛̐r̴̭̊ ̷̛̗͒͆̉̾s̴̩͔̓̅̌̐ĭ̴̡̛͖͍̯̐͐d̵̛͉̓͋̎͠ͅe̷̺͗͝?̷͈̜̓̎ ̴̖͖̘͖̽͊̐̚Ỷ̵̙̬̱͚͉̔o̷̰͙̣̘̲̿̽͆͒ü̵͔͓̚'̵͈̭̂̊̄r̶̛͍͆͐̔͝e̸̢͈͕̯͊́̈́͐̓ ̷̢̧͎̼͔̂͆̏͆͒n̴͎̣̩̈́̐ô̸͖̐̊̔͠w̵͖̞̼̬̑̏̊ ̵̫̺͗̑ȏ̵̹̳̠͒̐ṇ̴̠̾͜ ̵̗͍͒̓S̸̢̡̬̺͂̑c̸̺̼̬̓̚h̵͇̳̭̼̓̿̏l̵̲̮̭̭̜͛͝â̸̹̮̄̚t̴̘̼̪͛ť̶̢͔̗̰̍͜'̴̺̔͆̊̿s̸̝̤͎͍͊̂͊̅͝ ̷̢̻͖̪̂̕s̴̰̗̈́̃̃í̶͎̙̞͍̾̐d̶̮̲̖̗͓̏̊e̸͈̥̊͊̔̈ͅ,̴̫̥̯̼̈́͂͗ ̵̹͙̽͒a̵̢̋́r̸̩̯ȩ̷̣͈͓͕͆̂ņ̴̖̰̝̊̓'̷͖̱̞̄͗̎t̸̺͍͖̿̽̚͜ ̷̨̳̯̹͔͊̏̔ỳ̶̧̻̙̤̖͝o̸̫̗͎͖̼u̵̞̹̞͌̅͋?̴͎̏̈́̎͜ͅ_

_IF I CAN'T HAVE L'MANBERG, NO ONE CAN, TOMMY!_

_**MURDER HIM!** _ _MURDER HIM ON THIS GODDAMN STAGE!_

_Tubbo, I'm sorry. I'll make this as painless and colourful as possible..._

_I̵̻̿̏̊̕'̸̜̹̖̪͕͐̾͊͋͛m̶̨̈́̚͠͠.̴̞̉͂.̷̨̡̯̻̝͊.̷͍̲̥͎̑̀s̸̪̽͗͂̈͠c̶̦͕͒͆̂a̵̛̹̞̫̹̒̈͗͂͜r̸̭̒̉͆ḛ̶̗̤̤̽̽ḏ̶̗̩̒̐̊,̵̮͚͊ ̴̭̼̪͙̩̅T̵̺̋͒͝ụ̴̞̖̰̿́̃͝b̵̨̡̙̔̽̂̈́ͅb̸̡̲̝̄͆̑o̸̲̜̺͛͂̒͝.̴̱͓̃͝ ̸͔̱̤̞͔̉̅̅Í̴̩̗'̴̫͍̹̏̾͝m̶̡̕̚̚ ̸̞͓̈̐̎̊ͅś̵͓͚̳͍̳̎͒͒̚c̴̳̦͊a̶̧̫̜̘̍̈́̍̊ŗ̵̻͌̿̄̇e̸̢̪̠̍̈͗͝d̶̡͈̗͉͌̏͝ ̷̨̱͙̩͈̽̇́̅̉ò̵͇͛̍̌͘͜f̸̪͎̫̂ ̵̖̞̀̈̌ẅ̴̧͉̺͗͋̔̏h̸̜̅̂͗̋à̶̬͔̟̯͝t̶̩̰̱͈̉͊͜ ̷̳͈̇̈͑̚W̴͈̺̻̘̾̈͛̓̎î̸̧̖͖͙̤͋̾̈l̴̲͓͈̟̇b̵̡͓̾̈́̌̒ů̵̟̰͌͗͛͘r̸̦̖͙̮̹̀͒͂͝ ̴̧̢̫̺̼̃̈́m̷̬̬̱͑̚i̵̠̺̙̎͒̍̿g̷̨̩̏ḣ̸̨̧͍̺̗̆͐t̷̤̳̅ ̶̰̐͠͠d̸͚͓͖͍̯̓õ̷͔̩̳̘̖͂.̶̡͇́̇ͅ ̸̘͗̃̉̇W̸̫͙̘̅̚h̷̖̯̝͕͎̍͊̽̕ą̴̡͓͖̀͘͠t̷̗̜̲̹͠ ̸̝̏͛̊͘i̷͙̔͠f̶̙͇͌̀̃̅ ̵̢̘̲̜̩̈͂h̷̯̋ȇ̵͖͎͍͚ ̵̲̱͕͚̏̃̓͠d̴̳̤̆͜͝e̴̜̭͆̏̔̄̂c̴̦͙͎̾͗͘i̷̼̟̝̤͊͊͘d̸̝̙̪̙͆ȇ̶͎͋͌̇͂s̴̮͝ ̴͓̦̹̓͒̈́͊t̷̗̖̂o̷̡͍͑ ̷̪̫͚͎̰̓̎͌͘b̴͍̯̲̯̂̉͠ͅl̸̼͍̜̈́ͅö̶̥̼͉͆̂w̵̻̯̒̋͊̒͝ ̶͓͗̎́u̴̥̦̻͊̅̽p̷͙̰͐̽͝ ̶̥͇̰͊̉͗M̴͉͇̺̯̊̅͜ā̴̪̗̰̱̱̉̈͛̈́n̵͔͔͇̙̈̆͆ͅb̵͍̹̟̫̓́e̵̱̪̹̊̉͐̚r̸̤̻̳̍̃̀g̵̝͉͗̒́̎͂?̶̦̍̀ ̸̪̄̾̌̏E̸̡̩̲͍͙͌̍̾̕͝v̵̼̰̬͐̎̊́͠e̶̝̺̼̬̬͠r̷̯̼̻̫̋̂̐͜͝ỷ̷̢̥̘͔͛͊̽͘b̶̲͈̿̎͗̉o̴͈͙̅̏̅͘ͅd̷̗̬͚̯̃y̶̧̞̝̪͕͒̾̂̓̂ ̸͇̅̄̅̒͝â̵͔̍t̷̡̟̼͙̺̋̋ ̷̡͉̒̾͘͘ţ̶͒h̸̟̀̃̇ȅ̵͂͂͑̆ͅ ̵̖͉̍̏̚f̸̛̳̰͖̜͑̉̈́ȩ̴̢̂̄͒͗̕š̶̭̦̈́̈́͆͠t̶͖̹̽i̷̯̲̫̫͔̒̐͊̾͠v̵̩̺̰͛̎a̶̗͔͍͂̆̍̎l̵̠̈́̆ ̵̛͉̪͓̟̦̆͌̉͝w̶̢̠̺͕̍̌̑̎͐ȉ̶̢͎͚̻̺l̶̨̛̖̤̳ͅļ̸͎̬̙̿ ̴̧̝̲̹̍̈́͝ḓ̶̤̘̏̄͋i̵̜̇̆̊̕e̴͔̎̓͂͗.̴̤̜̱͇͕̑̔͝ ̶̟̫̹̅̅̑͜É̴̯̱̻̳̝v̷̱͆̈e̵̛͓̿͋̎̎r̶̤͗̑y̸̠͇̮̰̆͌́͊̈ͅb̷̰̽̐o̸͉̖̯̐d̴̛̛̙͊̈́͝ŷ̵̦̞̺͕̃͝ ̴̲̼̫͉̽͊̌͊í̶̪͇̙͆̏n̵̝͈͇̫̚ͅc̴̡̛̖̀̌l̴̢̧̝̓̂̏̈́͠ŭ̷̥͙͔̥̓d̸͎̲̽̈́̉̈́͝ï̵͈͍̰̈́ṋ̶̹̞̳͑̑͐̕g̶̰̥̀̈́́͜ ̵̹͉̮̦̍̈́̽͝ÿ̸͚͙́̏̃̓o̸̺̫͇̫̒̾̾͝ů̴͖͂̅̾̅.̸̧͎͠_

_Hey, Techno, just don't die please. It will be cringe if you did._

_I̸͚̭̯̔͆͊͠ ̵͍͉͔̞̮͛̏t̷̘̖͐̀r̴̫̜̖͉͛͌u̶͋͜s̸̺͍̻͛̏̚͝t̴͖̊̏͘e̸̯̱̋d̴̨̂̅͗̓̉ ̶͚͇̼̈́̎̋y̷̯͕͗̈̌̋͘o̸̯̬̜͂̉͠u̷̺̓̀̆̕,̷̧̱̼́͋̽̄͝ ̴̻̪͋̿͝Ţ̶̝͊̆͊͠o̴̬̽͒̀͘͘m̸̱̣͈̍̈́́̈́̆m̷̨̡̩͕̆͒̍y̴͓̙̩͎͉̌̽̿͝,̶̪̲̬̲͂̇ ̸̫͈͍̈͠ͅa̴̖̦̭͑ņ̷̼͇̱̋͒̿̽͐d̷͍̲̊̊̒͛ ̶̢̭̘̗̒̌̍͝Ị̴̞͕͍̲͊̂͛ ̸̘̘͂͐̈́̅s̸̺͇̄́̚t̵̝͗͊̿̽̚͜ḯ̸̡̢́͛͝͝l̶̛̮͒͗͝l̷̘̟͑̏̈́͠ ̸̺̩̰̱̲̏͐͊̌d̶̢̼̭̽ó̶̳̦͍͎͉̀.̴̣͈̞̩̐ ̶̭͇̦̋̿̈́̈́I̶͖̤̔̓͐̈ ̸̡̡̨̛̫̘̇̂̃̚ţ̶̡̥͝r̴͔̣̓̃̈́͌̕u̶͓̗̻͓͍̽̔̇ṡ̸̤̆̾͝t̷̞̳̟̫͐̑̈́ͅ ̸̡͖͙̝̫̔̿̍y̶̡̠̺͝õ̴̹̌͆u̶͉̯̾͌̈́͌̒ ̴̙͋̋̈̚̕n̸̡̛͓̜̹̓̐ö̵̪͖̩̯͒̃t̸̻̞̃̈́͋͘ ̶͓͚̤̘͒̆̀̂͜ṯ̶̣̑̀̀͘ͅö̵͍́͘ ̴̣̺͂̂̈́̊͘͜ș̸̾̎̋h̷̛̬̥͓̋ͅo̵̢͓̭̠̔̈́ȏ̷̢̹͕̍̆͐t̶̼̻̔̏ ̷̢̠̗͒͊͑̄͝m̶̮̟̖̟̤̊̀͆̉ẽ̶̹̃͝.̸̻͚̫̓̎ͅ ̵̞̑̒Ṫ̴̺͊̚ŏ̴̢͎̩̱̭͂̀̃̆m̸̢͛m̸͍̞̾ÿ̷͈́̈́,̸̼̩̣̮̈́͜ ̵̛̫͛p̷͓̽̍͊́̓l̵̥̐̈e̷̜͔͌̾ȧ̶͇͚͘s̴͕͔̍͋͗̾͝e̴͉̋̄.̷͈̠̇̍͝.̶͂̀̔̕ͅ.̵̰̻͔͋_

_**Victory** _ _or_ _**Death** _ _._

_IF YOU WANT YOUR ASS TO GET FATTER YOU GOTTA START DOING SQUATS WITH A LITTLE MORE WEIGHT BIG GUY!_

_I̸͕͚͉̕ ̴͖̳̬̓̑͌̾̕t̸̩͕͔̹͒̍̍̅̈́r̴͇̝͓͕̩̈́̀̏u̵̱̺̠̰͑̓͠͝s̶͕͓͋͐̈́t̷̗͔͉̻̐ ̷̝̎̐͝y̴͖̘͒͐ǒ̶̩̭ȗ̴̫͒̌,̶̲̿͗͘͝ ̴̛̠͕̅̑T̸̥͙̟̐͌͂͠o̵̹͚̟͕̞͗͆̾̆̿m̷̩̙̑͋ͅm̸̢̟̬͆͠ẏ̵̮͓̪.̵̢̾͝͝ ̴̜͔͈̒͠I̷̧̧̾͗̒͘'̶̖̝̹̻̅̋l̸̡͛l̶͖͎͚̽̌̾͌͜ ̷̲͔̓̀ả̴̬̥̜̐͌͋̉l̸̠͇̐̂w̷̘͐̅͊͗̿â̶͙̪͆͗y̸͉͕͚̦͑̇̔s̷̲̰̊͗̆ ̵̱̱̤͖̇ť̸̹̃͛r̶̨͉̒́͑ủ̸̪̚s̸̯̺̝̞̎̃t̴̟̊ ̵̪͇͈̣̬̋̿y̸̙̿͂͠ǒ̴͓͍̘ů̴̼̫̭̬͖͐͒͠͝ ̴͕̯̦̗̔̔ț̶̫͆̅͑ǫ̷̪̤̣̊̉ ̵̢̫͈̖̟̀͝d̴̲̯̔̿͜o̷̫͗͑ ̵̪̝̪̐̍̆͆̕ͅt̵̪͇̠̕h̵̢̢͖̠͂e̴̲̻͋̋̓ ̸̱̱̗̦̊r̵͇̤͈͆͑i̵̧͇̰͖̊͛̃̎͘ģ̶̡͉͍̫̄͋̊̿̈ḧ̵̭͍̥͓̠́̔͝t̵̗̪̝̠̩͗̊͒͊̀ ̷̲̎̾ṯ̸̡̈͑͘h̸̢̨͔̿͂̅́̑͜ȉ̷͓̝͉̰̔͂̂n̴̝̭̙͗͘͝͝ġ̶̰.̷̰̈́̓ ̸̜̜̂̑̑͘ͅT̴̲͇̓̓̊̂͊h̴̛̹͆͑͝͠å̸̠̻̈͌n̴̡̛̻k̷̗͋̈́̏̓̍.̵̯͙͈̝̉̎͠.̴̣͚̈́̒̚.̵̹̙̈́̆͌̓ţ̵̞̬̮̳͗͘͘͠h̵̢̛̝̙̱̦͌̂͋a̴͈̦͗n̴̹͂͗k̸͕̙̑̅͌͘ ̶̛̞̽̈̿̓ÿ̵̤́̉o̶̥͊̀̈ū̸̯̏͗̌̊ ̴̬͉̼͚͕̽̄f̵̡̮̼͕͖͐̈͠ó̴̝̗̭r̷̩̻̦͚̈͗ ̸̱̹͍͆̈́͒̅b̷̧̫̓̽ĕ̸̛̼̦̏̽i̴̯͔͇̮͓͌̇̃̈n̵̘̹͔̻̔̌̆̒g̵̠̘̅ͅ ̶̰̝̽̊̀̈́͜͠ṁ̶͕̯̇̕y̸͖̋̃ͅ ̷̛̰̤͘͠f̷̲̻̤̼̎̔̈́r̵͉͇͆̄̇̈́i̶̘͓̘͇̘̽e̴͖̘̬̪̎̆͠n̶̡̬̅ͅd̴̨̘͑̃̕ͅ.̸̢͓̕.̵̡̧̩͖̙̓̄.̴̖͂̾͜͝.̵̗̈́͊̚.̷͓͔̠̹͔̾.̸̧͎̤̙̈́̀̎̈́_

_You want to be a_ _**hero** _ _, Tommy? THEN_ _**DIE** _ _LIKE ONE!_

_I̷͖͉̬͂̿ ̸͍̗̬͂̋h̵̢̜̰͔̥̋ỏ̴̘̳̩̖͇͐͘p̷͖̌̾͘̚e̵̻̞̠̅͑͌͠ ̷̹̺͙̅̔̂ͅI̴̗̱̜̝ ̶̩͓͔͉̐́͐̚̕d̵̝̩̣͖̝͐ḯ̸̦͈̖̬̖͑̎̄͝d̵̥̃̔͘ ̸̝͖͕̹̾͊ͅy̴̬͋͑̉̕o̸͉̅ǘ̵̟̙̭ ̴͓̦͕̻̈́͗p̵͎͙̪͊̌͛r̵̛̰͉̤̲͈̅o̸̲̙͇̅ȗ̴̪̮̭͚͒͂̓ḓ̶̥͙̉̌͋͜,̴̡͈͙̰̯̈̓͆ ̴͎̊̈͗W̸̜͕̿i̶̢̜̥̓̕l̴͓̈́b̴͍̲̙̺̌̈́̔͑͘͜û̴̡͕̺̥͎͋̆̈́ȑ̴͕̰̲͜.̵͔̻̮̻̿̎͐ ̸͙̭̣̬̤́̉I̵̭̩͊ ̵̢̬̙͙̑̈h̸͚͈͕͉̎̎̈́̇o̴͈̼̾͠p̷̗͋̍̑e̵̛̘͔̱͊̾ ̵̛͉̫̍̾͠Ȋ̷͉͝ ̵͉͆͊d̵̰̲̮̍̔̕i̴̧͕͜ď̴̩͇͚̥̺̓ ̷͈͒͗͌y̸͈̟̠̝̼̐́̊̀ǫ̶̩̐u̷̧̟͔̰̇͗̀̂͘ ̶̢̲̕p̵̓̚̕ͅͅr̷̢̳̝̞̱̊̓̏o̵̱͔̬̯͔̎u̶͇̦͔̔̑̏͊d̷͙̪̤̭̦͑̆͛̇͋.̷͓̇̉͝͝.̴̛̮͉̲̉̄͛͘.̶̹̦͌̆_

The voices. The voices, they clouded his mind. They rung in his ears, they dug into his brain.

_Make it stop, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP!!!!_

Visions played behind his shut eyelids; bursts of oranges, reds and yellows, bodies of people he couldn't identify falling down and down into an endless pit. Their screams echoed all around him—an endless drone of pain, misery and terror—as he tried to block out the noise, his own screams drowning and becoming a part of the cacophonous shrieks.

_Please... Please make it stop....please..._

How long had he been screaming? How long had he been pulling at his own hair? How long had it been since he started crying? 

How long had he been asleep?

"TOMMY! TOMMY!!!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!"

Tommy jerked up from his bed, a layer of sweat covering his whole body. Cold hands covered his shoulders as he took in heavy, ragged breaths, the trembling energy that coursed through his body slowly subsiding. Darkness lit only by the moon filled his room and it was in the midst of this almost surreal experience that Tommy recognised the dull brown eyes of his ghostly friend, Wilbur, and the calming, cold hands on his shoulders were from him too. "Wilbur? Wh-what happened? Wilbur..."

"Shh...it's okay. Everything's okay. He-here! Have some blue!" He played a smile and took out a handful of blue dye from his pocket. The soft, blue powder was as cool as the skin of the ghost, both its texture and temperature being a relief to the teen's erratic nerves and heated skin. His breathing grew steadier, a sight that relieved the ghost as he asked, "Feeling better?"

"Yes, Wilbur. I'm feeling a little better." The events of his dreams still played in his mind but he did his best to suppress them. Whatever those visions were, whoever those voices were, he had to suppress them. He had to stop thinking about them if he ever wanted to leave. If he ever wanted to return to L'Manberg.

"Tommy?" The ghost's hollowed voice broke the silence he didn't realise was there, and his hand came to press against his cheek where it wiped away a few of the stray tears he didn't know he let fall. "Did you want to tell me anything? Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

The teen shook his head, another tear falling from his eye and into Ghostbur's hand. "No. It's just another nightmare, I suppose. I'm fine," he said with as much conviction as he could muster. "It's nothing, really."

"Alright."

Silence befell them once again, the sounds of crickets and distant monsters being the only thing keeping them company. The crackling fire of a furnace had long since died as the night drew on, the chill of the night eventually creeping up to Tommy as he huddled beneath the blanket of his bed. He didn't want to go back to sleep. He didn't want to stay awake. If he went back to sleep, he'd have to face the possibility of having the same dream again or possibly worse. But if he stayed awake, then what are the odds that those voices, those events would replay in his mind over and over again? Tormenting his mind, his sanity as he slowly descends into what he could only describe as the world of madness! He just didn't know...

"Wilbur?"

"Don't call me Wilbur," the ghost whispered. "I don't like that name. I don't like that person."

"Sorry, Ghostbur. I didn't mean to." Falling back into the not-so-comfortable silence, Tommy pondered over why Ghostbur was so adamant towards Wilbur. They are— _were_ the same person but Ghostbur only remembers Wilbur's good memories, and what he's been told of about his lost memories made him dislike Wilbur. It didn't really make sense to Tommy but what was he to do? He's been warned to not tell Ghostbur of his past life (especially from the ghost himself) so he stuck to that rule. Well...stuck to it as best he could. "So what do you remember, Ghostbur? Because I remember a lot of things."

"What do I remember?" Ghostbur's eyes studied the wall opposite him, Tommy's eyes fixated on him. He didn't respond immediately, rather he didn't seem to know how to respond. After all, he's been asked the same question countless times by everyone (and none more so by Tommy), so naturally he tried to think of new memories. New, happy memories of his time being alive and with his friends and family, but it was all for nought as his mind drew a blank. He could think of nothing but everything he's already told before, so he shook his head and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Tommy. I don't remember much of anything. I remember us fighting together in the L'manberg War, I remember when Schlatt came to visit and showed us his cuck shed. I remember us building the Lamberg walls and starting our hto dog van business! Why... Why has everything changed, Tommy? Why did Wilbur and the rest of the world have to do what they did? Were we not happy?"

"No. We weren't happy." He gritted his teeth at the memories of past L:Manberg. "We were never happy. Not when there was always a constant threat to our nation. Not when we fought so hard for everything only to lose it all again and again."

"Was peace ever an option?" Tommy shook his head at his question, the sigh he heard low and despondent. "I'm sure things would've been better had Wilbur done something better, something good."

"He put Tubbo in charge. He made him President of L'Manberg."

"That's good then, isn't it? He's your friend, after all."

_He's your friend._

Those words stung Tommy more than he wanted them to and he visibly shuddered. "I sometimes wonder about that. I don't think we're friends anymore."

"That's not true!" Ghostbur argued, causing the teen to flinch. "He's your Tubbo! And you're his Tommy! You two were inseparable."

"If we're so inseparable, then why did he exile me? Why am I now thousands of miles away from him?" Tommy exhaled a heavy sigh. "Why did he betray me...?"

Ghostbur's cooling hand reappeared on Tommy's shoulder, the act itself warmer than his lifeless skin. "I don't know, Tommy. I don't know."

"But surely you must know!" Tommy exclaimed almost desperately. His eyes had begun to tear up again as he stared into the shocked, listless eyes of the ghost. He searched within those eyes for an answer to his questions but none came. "Don't you remember anything, Ghostbur? Don't you remember why Wilbur would've put Tubbo in charge instead of me? Why Tubbo would do this to me?"

"C-can we please not talk about this, Tommy? I've already told you I don't remember anything and you know I don't like thinking about Wilbur." 

"But it's important! It's important to me that I—" he caught himself before he finished his sentence, reminded of what Tubbo had said to him.

 _"It was never about us, was it, Tommy?! It was only about the discs!_ _I made a promise to do what's best for this nation and right now, Tommy, you...your presence here is not the best for this nation."_

His heart sank at those words. Was that really what Tubbo thought of him? After everything they had been through, fought through, lived through? Was that all? "He... He called me a liability, Wilbur. He said I didn't care for the people, only for the discs. But I gave up those discs for us! I... I just don't understand why he'd exile me. Was I a bad person? Am I a bad person?"

"...I don't know, Tommy," the ghost replied. "I don't remember. You seem like a good person now. You were a good kid from what I remember and a lot of fun." Ghostbur's smile was gentle and caring as the early morning sun began its ascent above the horizon, its rays lighting up and passing through his ethereal body that somehow maintained a physical presence next to him. It was in his smile that Tommy got a glimpse of the old Wilbur—the Wilbur he knew as brother—as he said, "You're not a bad person, Tommy, not unless you make yourself out to be one. Maybe in the past your decisions weren't the greatest, but now you want to make things right. That makes you a good person, doesn't it?"

"I-I guess so?"

"It does. Now, have some more blue." He piled more dye into Tommy's already blue-stained hands then stood up and stretched. "Let's make Logstedshire the best holiday destination in the world, okay?"

 _Logstedshire...my new home._

"Yeah, let's continue to build Logsted."

**—————————**

_It was for the good of this country._

That's what he had told himself. Everything he had been doing was for the good of the country, the good of his nation, but...it felt wrong. It all felt wrong...

"Sir? Is everything okay?"

Turning from his balcony overseeing the whole of L'Manberg, Tubbo was met with the heterochromia eyes of his minutes man, Ranboo. His frame was bent over as he tried to peer outside the cramped room that was Tubbo's house before making his way out to stand beside the young President, standing almost double his height. Side by side, Tubbo felt at ease knowing one person from his cabinet was supportive of him. "Nothing's wrong, Ranboo. I've just been thinking about things."

"Like what?"

"Like whether it really was such a good idea to exile Tommy. It was for the good of this nation, was it not? I got Dream to take down the walls and everything is back to how it was before. In fact, everything is better! Right?"

The Enderman-hybrid looked to his President, a blank stare on his face. "I can't say whether everything is better, Tubbo. I wasn't here before—" he waves a hand in the air—"before any of this. But I will say that whatever L'Manberg was before doesn't compare to now. This place is beautiful and from what I see of the wreckage beneath it all, it has come a long way."

"It really has." Tubbo returned to watching his nation slowly come to life, people exiting their homes and greeting each other before starting their fresh, new day in a town without walls. 

That's what he wanted. A nation without walls or boundaries. A nation without fear of the opposition, namely George's kingdom. It's what he told himself when he was stood atop that high obsidian wall, wasn't it? 

_"You want peace, don't you? This is the only way to get that. What purpose would another war against Dream do for L'Manberg? Nothing. Just more war, more violence, more death. We don't want that, do we?"_

"No." 

"No what?" Ranboo asked, turning to his President when he uttered that one word. 

"War, Ranboo. We don't war. We want peace and freedom like we had wanted before. Although the damage hasn't been completely repaired we are headed towards a brighter and better future, far better than what it was previously." He faced Ranboo, eyes filled with an amber glow unlike his natural blue, and full of conviction as the sun shone brilliantly above them. "What I did was right. We needed to prevent the past from happening again and by exiling Tommy we have done just that."

"We have?" His question was jarring to Tubbo, more than Ranboo had intended it to be. In a kinder tone, he asked, "Why was exiling Tommy our best option?"

"Because we wanted to protect our land, Ranboo. We don't want to be surrounded by walls and dictated by the other nation. It's for the people. Our nation is our people and we must protect them at all costs. We must do what's best for them."

With that, Tubbo returned inside his house with a softer and more joyful look on his face. Ranboo, left alone on the balcony, watched him leave and mulled over his words. Taking out his book, he opened it to a page containing a list of names of everyone he had met, all the people who were his friends, and repeated what Tubbo said.

"For the people... Do what's best for the people."

_...What is best for the people?_


End file.
